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June 2004 Archives

June 3, 2004

I have had many firsts on its white-sanded beaches and in it's turquoise waters.

Good morning babies. I have returned to the land of responsibility and alarms that go off at 5:45 am.

Suck.

So, the vacation... It was divine.

I was planning on taking off early on the 20th so Mister and I could get a head start on our vacation, but alas, I had to work a bit later than I had planned to reconcile the books from my last conference. Since I was going to be out of the office until after the month closed out, I needed to get that done. No biggie. I got home around 2:30pm and we started the mad-dash packing that we now realize is the worst way to start off a vacation of any length.

Mister = a loving and kind man with the ability to prioritize event he smallest detail, systematic to the nines, with the mind of a programmer and the heart of an air traffic controller. Heavy on the controller part.

Me = a sweet and generous woman with a day dreaming quality applied to anything unpleasant, detail oriented but in a completely nonsystematic way... mind of an artist and the heart of an escapist. Heavy on the flighty.

The way Mister packs. Start with one objective. Complete objective and move on to the next task, only when the first one is completed.

The way I pack. Start with one objective, an object reminds me that I may need to pick up the film for the camera that reminds me that I may want to bring the Berry colored lip gloss in case we take some pictures in New Orleans, that pair of shoes would be great to wear in the car on the way, easy on and easy off... ooh look a butterfly!

Annnnnnnnnnnd repeat.

We threw our luggage in the Lincoln, grabbed the cat and his supplies and headed toward the boarders. Max doesn't like to go to the boarders. Yes, they take good care of him, and yes, he is a healthy boy when he gets home, but he'd rather stay at the apartment in his own environment while we are away.

If Maxxie grows opposable thumbs and can feed himself, give himself fresh water and empty his litter box by the next time Mister and I go out of town, we'll talk about letting him stay home.

Only if he promises to not throw any wild kitty parties.

So, Car... packed.

Cat... boarded.

Time... 4 pm. Shit.

Dallas traffic is not easy to deal with.

Mister and I were already ruffled from dealing with each other's packing procedures.

See above.

Mister was gritting his teeth and worried about getting out of town without getting stuck in traffic, I was worried about whether or not I brought the correct amount of underwear and thinking that I could use a cigarette.

Oh, did I not mention that little morsel? Well, no Suz, you haven't updated in eleventy-fourteen frillion years. WHAT'S The Friggin Morsel?!?!?!

We stopped smoking. Yeah, tomorrow will be a month.

I hate it.

And I hate you, if you are having a cigarette without me.

Let's recap on the things I have quit in the past year. Last August... beer. Middle of April... Dr. Peppers and most things caffeinated. May 7th... smokes.

The only things I have left in the vice category are shoes, makeup and Vodka. Lots of vodka.

So we got on the road and Mister finally relaxed somewhere around the Tyler/Lindale exit off of I-20. That's like two and a half hours people. We decided that in the future we would pack separately and at least the day before we leave. Good idea... no?

Earlier in the week I called an old contact of mine at the New Orleans Hyatt. I told him that Mister and I would be coming through and asked if he could hook me up with a good rate and a room for Thursday and Friday nights. He did, because... he is a rock star and the best convention services manager this side of the Mississippi.

Mister and I hit New Orleans at about 2 am and went to get checked in. The above mentioned rock star had set us up with a two bedroom suite on the 26th floor... AND he took care of the cost for both nights as well. Rock star? Yes... rock star. Needless to say we left his assistant with a box of Godiva Chocolates and we left him with a bottle of Stoli Silver and a very nice golf shirt.

So cool.

We so enjoyed our time in New Orleans. I love it there and I think it is fast becoming one of Mister's favorite cities. We wandered the French Quarter, ate the most delectable meal at the French Market Restaurant and Bar, and just completely enjoyed ourselves.

Oooh... we even bought a Christmas ornament that is a pretty crawfish. I am so excited about this ornament. We bought an ornament while we were on our honeymoon last September but we really didn't have any place to hang it this past Christmas because our apartment is too small for a Christmas tree. That is soon to change though, because on the 14th of May we signed papers to lease a house. Yep, a true, honest to God house. Four bedroom, three bath home right across the street from my old high school. We move in this month. I am so excited! So LuLu, when you and Mr. Tim come to visit, you guys can stay with us... and your little one will have their own room! YAY! You too Trixie. Come to visit soon!

We left New Orleans around noon and continued on our way to Destin, Florida. It's just about 4 hours and a great drive. We called my parents to let them know where we were because they arrived at the condo at noon. They asked if we had heard from my sister's clan. We hadn't but we all arrived at approximately the same time.

We unloaded and went straight out to the beach.

This is what I found.

Gorgeous huh? Yeah... the sight of that water takes my breath away every-time. My family has been vacationing in Destin since I was 14 years old. I have had many firsts on its white-sanded beaches and in it's turquoise waters.

It was the first place I ever had a flaming Dr. Pepper. Ugh.

It is the first place I ever went deep-sea fishing.

It is the first place I ever had sex on the beach. The drink and the act.

I was so excited to show Destin to Mister. It is a place that means so much to me; I couldn't wait to have him experience some of his firsts there too.

We stayed on the sixth floor. And walking to the door of the condo this is what you see if you look to the right.

That pool was the sight of many teenage carousings while we were there. The kids in Destin move in packs like wolves. All of those young tan kids having the time of their lives. I couldn't even be mad when they would keep me awake late into the night with their whooping and hollering. I remembered being one of them.

We spent the week on the beach, soaking in the sun and the salty air. Trying to get my husband to relax and enjoy doing nothing. He got the hang of it about Tuesday.

My sister was a bit sick on the way to Destin and whatever she had; she gave it to her son, who in turn gave it to me.

Thursday morning I awoke with water-poo. Yeah, I'll leave the descriptive commentary out of this entry to save you the visual. Later that morning I still had water-poo but I had also been upgraded to hurling my guts into the trashcan. Pretty.

I spent the majority of Thursday in the bed, when I wasn't on the potty or hurling into the sink or whatever I could find that could be burned, thrown away or flushed.

It was so bad that my family called my general practitioner (Dr. W) and he in turn called in a prescription for suppositories to help me quit with the hurlage.

I quit puking by Friday morning but I still couldn't put anything in my system. No water, no food... just a few sips here and there of Gatorade. I started eating solids on Sunday.

I lost 7 pounds and I am calling that the Destin Diet. I kept the water-poo as a memento until Sunday afternoon.

My father got it, my mother got it and my brother in law got it. Poor BIL, he was the only other one to hurl though. The only one still standing is Mister. My mother has dubbed him the "King of Mean... too Mean to get sick."

Mister and I left Saturday with the rest of the family. We wound our way back to I-10 and decided to stay another day or two in New Orleans since we both had Monday off for Memorial Day.

We went back to the French Quarter and even bought a watercolor (SO BEAUTIFUL!) on the square from one of the artists. It is our first art purchase together. I think we池e going to hang it above our new fireplace.

We ended up getting into Dallas late Sunday night.

All in all it was a wonderful trip. I look forward to it again in 2006.

Back to the grindstone.

Let me hear from you guys... just click on the Extra Extra link below to sign the guest book.

Kisses.

June 4, 2004

Just One of the Guys Part 2

For the first part, please click here.

The 2nd semester of my 9th grade year I made some new friends; Jimmy, who was affectionately called “Bean” by most who knew him and his best friend and counterpart, Steve.

They were the heart and soul of the offensive guard (and defensive when needed) for the school football team. The coaches at the senior high school (11th and 12th grades) Bean and Steve were to attend in a few years drooled over their stats as they watched the boys plow through score after score of high school rivals.

Their fierce competitiveness and surprising speed on the football field belied the fact that they were two of the nicest guys a girl with a chip on her shoulder could meet.

I actually met Bean and Steve in Mrs. Tilley’s English class one afternoon as I overheard them talking. Bean was telling Steve about seeing this large, bald man break down the door to one of his older brother’s friend’s house. The tale was long and sordid and it actually (and accurately) described (to my dismay and my horror) a tale I already knew because it was my father that broke that door down.

Long story short… My sister was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. Daddy drove by, saw her car and got out and rang the doorbell. Silence followed because apparently the whole group thought that my father was retarded and blind and couldn’t see the lights being turned off all over the house and screams of, “Shut UP!... He’ll hear us!” coming from inside. Daddy got mad, broke down the door, grabbed my sister and her best friend and told them to get their asses to the house. Bean just happened to be on the sidewalk on the other side of the street when a stream of high school kids came hauling ass around the side of the house; his brother was in the middle of the departing masses. His brother yelled, “RUN!” and that is where Bean stopped his narrative with Steve.

Steve incredulously asked, “No shit?” Bean responded with, “No shit.”

Steve said, “No way man, I don’t believe you.”

I knew Bean was telling the truth, and for some reason, I decided to get his back. I leaned over and said, “Excuse me guys, I couldn’t help overhearing.” I turned to Steve, “Yanno, he’s telling the truth.” Steve looked dubious and gave me an eyebrow raise. I said, “I know because the man who broke down John B’s front door [look to Bean for confirmation that it was indeed John B’s house… he nodded] was my father.”

The only word from Steve was, “Dude.”

For some reason, I guess owning up to something that strange for a high school kid was seen as bold. Our friendships started and bloomed quickly. They introduced me to their rag tag group of buddies and I was immediately comfortable. These were guys that didn’t feel the need to put on airs around each other and in turn they were real towards me. I loved them all and in a short period of time, there weren’t many places that I went without being sandwiched between Bean and Steve.

The two of them combined probably pushed 450 pounds. Bean is fair with the bluest eyes and reddish hair, his complexion a bit ruddy because of his Irish heritage. Steve is dark and handsome with the brightest smile in Dallas that is even more brilliant because of his a Spanish lineage and darker skin. Both of them are very handsome men with quick wit, fantastic senses of humor and loyal to death.

Being around them, and their group of friends [whose nickname I will not repeat here for fear of Google], I found myself relaxing and enjoying high school. With the suggestion of my best girlfriend Stephanie, and the support of the guys, I actually went out for cheerleader/mascot and got it. With Stephanie and some other friends cheering me on, and the guys’ hearty whooping in the stands, the enthusiasm was infectious and I was excited to be part of the cheerleading squad. I would get to dance/cheer and be on the field with the boys when they played football. Loving the cheerleading uniform and long curly hair and of course, my lipstick… but yeah, just one of the guys.

Over the summer all of our friendships grew. Both Steve and Bean had questionable relationships with their fathers and when they got to know mine they totally loved him. I remember one evening Bean came to pick me up at the house. As usual, my mother, the hostess with the mostess, was trying to force feed Bean a side of beef. My father casually inquired to Bean’s workout schedule. Bean mentioned that he and Steve had been working out in the weight room at the school. My dad asked, “So, how much do you and Steve bench press?” Bean casually responded, “We both broke our goal for 500 pounds a few weeks ago.” My dad, just as casually and with a smile, responded, “Well, big boy, I guess if you and I ever get in a tussle, I’d just have to shoot your ass.”

With my father’s good natured ribbing and the way he showed how much he loved/loves my mother, my sister, myself and all of our friends, Bean realized that getting into a fist fight with his old man was pretty messed up, that his father treated his mother appallingly and that he was going to have to work hard to get out of that house. He was going to have to work extra hard to get the education that he wanted.

Bean and I started spending more and more time together without the group and without Steve, especially after the 10th grade was over and I was separated from both them because I had to go to another school. I hated being without them, and Bean hated being away from me. Something had changed, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.

The guys in Bean and Steve’s group started ribbing Bean openly about his crush on me. I ignored it. I acted as though we were all just friends… just like it used to be. I didn’t want my status to change. I didn’t want to be one of the girlfriends on the outside of the group. I wanted to hold onto my elite status as the only female core member of their group. I was one of them. Just one of the guys.

I fought it for a long time. Even when Bean, Steve and I planned out our two different proms like Pimps R’ Us, I wanted to be one of the guys. For my high school prom, I set up all of Bean and Steve’s friends with girls from my high school, and for their prom, we just reversed it. Bean and I were each other’s dates for both. I have pictures of us. We look so happy, laughing so hard we were crying. Him holding me like a bride in his arms for one picture. Bean so proud of the corsage he brought me. Bean whispering reverently in my ear, “You are so beautiful” many times throughout each night. No biggie right?

The first time I was aware of the change was not from the open ribbing Bean’s buddies were handing him quite often, it happened one summer night between our senior year at high school and our freshman year at college. We were all at Jake’s house. Jake was our groups’ “Joey” from Friends. So. Damn. Cute… yet, So. Damn. Vacant. Great with a joke, a smile and a flirt, I didn’t think much about Jake drunkenly planting a kiss on me when I was coming down the stairs. I look to the bottom of the stairs and there is Bean. His face immediately red and eyes blazing. God, his eyes were SO blue.

Like a bitch, I blew it off.

Steve mentioned it. Apparently out of the three of us, he was the only one with balls. He told me that things were changing. That Bean was very jealous and that maybe… just maybe, I needed to talk to him.

I paid extra attention to Bean the remainder of the summer and of course Bean didn’t mention the Jake Kissgate of 1990. Did I make out with Bean later in the summer? Yep. Did I feel guilty and try to make him feel special? Yep, did he ask me to be his steady girlfriend? (Because it was 1950?.. Lord, I’m a tool.) No, he didn’t. I didn’t push it, he didn’t push it. We tried to leave things as they were. We tried to be nonchalant.

I knew that I was going to a college in east Texas and Bean and Steve would be at the opposite ends of the globe in west Texas (Bean) and in Austin (Steve). I decided to leave things be and just enjoy my remaining time with them. Him really.

I should have talked to him, but I didn’t.

I just wanted to be one of the guys.

During my first semester at college guess who came to see me? Bean and Steve! I was so excited I thought I was gonna pee my pants when they got there. I wanted to introduce them to all of my new (and reacquaint them with my old) friends. I ran downstairs and I don’t think my feet touched the ground for a good 5 minutes with Bean and Steve passing me back and forth in bear hugs. It was SO good to see them. I missed them so much. My heart didn’t feel the same without them around.

We made plans for the night, I took them to a party out in the middle of nowhere and everyone had a blast. The next night was poker and another party on someone’s land. Poker went famously, beer flowed, laugher was abundant and I was perched between my boys on the couch… happy as a clam. We went out to a club and then out to the land party. The land party really just consisted of a bunch of underage punks drinking beer beside a poorly constructed bonfire. Yeah, you know that kind of party.

On the way out to the party, Steve rode with a friend because Bean wanted to talk to me… alone. He was completely honest and bared his soul. I did not know what to do. I had a wall around my heart for so long that it had atrophied. I told him that I thought whatever he was suggesting was a really poor idea. That I totally loved him, I just didn’t want to be his girlfriend.

What a ho.

Yeah. The “You’re so nice, sweet and cute… BUT” song and dance.

I make me sick.

We got to the party and… this is where the suck reigns.

This was my best friend in the whole world.

I had been pulling away from Bean since the Jake Kissgate of 1990 because I got all indignant about it. Who was he (Bean) to determine who I kissed or who I didn’t? Right? RIGHT??? And here he was, in the middle of BFE trying to tell me that he loved me and wanted to be exclusive.

People. I muttered something like, “I can’t do this right now.” And got out of the car.

I GOT. Out. of the Freakin. Car.

Bean came over to me, stood by my side and offered me a beer. I said thank you and looked at him. He was crying.

Beautiful ice blue eyes, red face and a look that broke my heart in two… through the wall I had so carefully constructed around it.

I got mad. I think in my tirade that I even called him a pussy for crying.

The good Lord should have smote my ass.

I swear, all I wanted to be was… Just one of the guys.

June 21, 2004

Of course, I am speaking of our Pat Boone albums and my precious moments collectibles.

Hi there, [waves]… my name is Miss Lazy McIdlebottom. The Mister and I are moving to a new abode in … hmmm, less than four days from now. Guess how much I have gotten packed. No really, go on. Guess.

The kitchen, the closet and most of the master bedroom you say?

WRONG!

As of Saturday night at approximately 9 o’clock, we had a bunch of trash moved to the front of the garage… the garage, which has been used for lo on this past year as a storage unit for my stuff. We also … hold on to yer britches… packed and taped up five, yes five boxes.

Woooo!

I’m not saying we haven’t given it the good old college try. We purchased 30 medium boxes, 10 large boxes, some of that poofy packing material for breakables, and a mattress bag from U-Haul for the California King bed… as well as a package (of three) and two single rolls of packing tape, a big honkin’ black marker, some labels (to mark each box with the room it should end up in) from Office Depot and the three buckets of vodka it will take for me to get through this move.

So, yeah… the squeamish tummy and the heartburn have taken hold of me pretty firmly. I do not take well to packing up all of my stuff into a herd of boxen (TM Brian Regan). I still haven’t gotten over the move from last year. Most of my stuff is still in boxes. I also have a king sized bed, a dresser, an ugly ass couch, three rows of my hanging clothes, my bathroom mats (and various bathroom accoutrement), a table/lamp combination, a desk and a bunch of other stuff all still in the garage. Has that garage been used for its’ intended purpose of housing a car? Nope. Not since Mister and I moved in. It has been used as a storage unit.

And all of my stuff smells like Quaker State.

Snazzy!

I swear, for the first three months that we live in this new place, I am going to be flitting around like a fairy on crack, spraying everything that was housed in the garage with Febreeze™ like eleventyfour frillion times a day.

Ah, good times.

Actually, Mister gave me the bestest gift in the world yesterday afternoon. Whilst I was sitting in the living room floor rending my flesh from bone, wailing and gnashing my teeth, (Gnashing? Oh yes, loads of gnashing.) Mister agreed that we might need some help with the packing.

The Internet was consulted and we found a company that specializes in packing your stuff, moving it, and then unpacking it where you need it. Hmmm, that sounds like just the thing I need to allow the queasy alien to move out of my esophagus and on to greener pastures.

Clearly, I am a hothouse orchid that needs to be pampered and coddled lest I wilt. I might break a nail yanno.

We called the Gecko Moving Company and spoke with Teri… Terry… Tarrieoiux? Whatever. Some nice lady that spoke to Mister for about 10 minutes, even though it was Father’s Day and we are thoughtless bastards for interrupting family time and all that. Teri and Mister ran over the inventory list, all the big things that need to be moved… washer and dryer, check. Two king sized beds, check. Two bureaus and a dresser, check. Entertainment center, surround sound equipment for indoors and out, enough computers to fill the inventory list of Circuit City?… checkity, check-check bitches.

Teri told Mister that she would check (hee!) the schedule, work up a quote and call him back; he confirmed that she had his numbers… yep, and they ended the phone call.

We went out for a bite to eat, because in my state only a bona fide Gazebo burger would soothe the savage beast of anxiety.

While at Gazebo burger, Teri called. Quote for packing and unpacking (using their own boxes… BONUS!)… and a quote for the move. Hmmm… only 23 dollars over the original amount we budgeted for the move. Rockin.

I started to giggle.

I couldn’t help it. I felt a manic release of pressure. If this packing/moving company can pack/move us on Thursday or Friday, for the amount that Teri quoted us… then that leaves just the nervous packing of our things of questionable nature.

:: blink ::

Of course, I am speaking of our Pat Boone albums and my precious moments collectibles. Because nothing says “Jesus Loves You” more than some creepy ass, hydrocephalic, doe-eyed pair of freaks sexually assaulting a turtle. Am I right?

Yep. Going to hell. I know.

Annnyways. I just got off the phone with Mister. He hasn’t heard from Teri yet, so I am not going to cancel the movers I have scheduled for Thursday.

Am I still nervous? You bet your sweet ass I am.

Currently the back of my throat is in the state of… FIRE!

If they can’t pack/move us… mainly I’m worried about the packing part… then I have (all together now) three days to pack up our whole lives into 40 boxes from U-Haul.

I would never make it as a nomad.

June 22, 2004

"Could my hair BE any more like Elaine from Seinfeld?" I asked myself.

Thoughts from your average white girl on a Tuesday morning.


Hmmm… Bare Minerals/Bare Escentuals?

Yeah, Hi. You guys suck.

I sooo bought into your little scheme about your products. So pure you can sleep in them you say? Oh, I think NOT. Lookit my face. Look. At. It.

I have been using Clarins for the past year. My skin was glorious, pores smaller, hardly any breakouts even before my special woman time… and redness? Diminished. Blemishes? Nary a one. I have been so faithful. My skin has been showing the love.

Yesterday morning I thought to myself, “Self… let’s try that light and airy Bare Escentuals/Bare Minerals today. It is humid outside. The light pure makeup should feel like nothing against my skin.”

So… I tried it.

Last night, before bed, my husband looked into my eyes lovingly… then recoiled in terror and said, “Baby, what do you have on your face?” “Bare Minerals,” I replied. “Do you like it?” He said, “No, and neither does your skin… it’s blotchy and bumpy.”

I went to look in the mirror. Sure enough. I looked like Charlize Theron… and not in a good way. More of a strung out, bisexual hooker, Monster way. Red blotchy skin. A bumpy and an uneven surface with red-rimmed eyes. Sexxxxxx-Ay!

I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed my face until it was shiny and clean. It is still pissed though. Even with the apologies, the good products that have been applied and the sacrifices offered in repentance my skin is mad.

Mad as Kathy Lee Gifford.

(I have no idea what that metaphor means, it just popped into my head… and I’m gonna go with it.)

Hey Bare Minerals and that chick with the big teeth that pimps for you on QVC? I hate you. Hate. I threw away over a $100 worth of your product last night.


It may be possible that Rhinestone may have been the first of the seven signs of the apocalypse.


Phenergan™ is perhaps the bestest drug in the world. Queasy? Take one. Vomiting because of migraines, take one… or try to. Phenergan™ rocks. May not be used while breastfeeding? No problem there. May make me dizzy? Bonus!

Will help with the over all feeling of being green in the gills and that I just spent 74 frillion hours on a tugboat, in 103 degree heat, 12 foot waves, throwing out a line of chum and eating a greasy pork sandwich (in a dirty ashtray… thank you Chet from Weird Science).

People all over the world thought that aspirin was a miracle drug. I submit that Phenergan™ is the cornerstone of the foundation… of the house that love built.


Are my boobs getting smaller? I don’t think so. I am like 4 seconds away from my cycle. And they don’t feel smaller… as a matter of fact… Geeze! they feel huge! Or Yooooge (thanks Mr. Trump).

So what’s with the bra on the tightest hook thing?


[Looking into the bathroom mirror.]

“Could my hair BE any more like Elaine from Seinfeld?” I asked myself.

[Do the little retarded dance/kick thing she does at company parties.]

“Perfect.”

[eyeroll]


I seriously have nothing today. I am just passing off these random thoughts as an entry. Or trying to.

Suggestions for an entry are welcome. Guest entries? Anyone?

Bail a sistah out.

June 28, 2004

Mister declares that he is going to start a company called the Mexican Connection.

The Move From Hell.

The following is a brief (yeah, right) synopsis of the trials and tribulations of the past several days. If you didn’t know, Mister and I moved. You can read a bit of the back-story here and here… shameless self-linking… done.

If you have any sort of allergic reaction to lists or bulleted points used as a lame ass version for an entry… Please skip this entry and go read some snarky brilliance from Amalah, view some cute pictures taken by Sundry, bow to The Girlfriends' Guide to Fabulousness and Fantasticity over at the random muse and um… MONKEY!

Ok then,… onward.

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004

5:45 am start period. Nice.

8 am … 4:30 pm Work Work Work Work Work get call from Mister who is standing inside our new home… he’s so excited! Work Work Work Work Work Work Work nervously peel fingernails and chew on bottom lip Work Work Work Work get email from Clarice offering the use of her Tahoe… greedily accept the offer Work Work receive confirmation call from Gecko (from the day before… call to make sure they are really coming to pack/move us on Thursday) Work Work Work cancel Alliance Apartment Movers Work Work Work Work Work Work Work Work Work schedule move out cleaners for Friday… drive home.

5:00 pm … 5:30 pm pick up Tahoe (land yacht) from Clarice and thank her profusely.

6:00 pm … 7:00 pm plan move over sizzling rice soup from Chopsticks

7:00 pm … 10:45 pm pack crap

10:45 pm … 12:30 am cough/hack/wheeze… annnnnd sleep

Thursday, June 24th, 2004… also now known as D-Day

6:00 am alarm goes off

6:07 am alarm goes off

6:14 am alarm goes off

6:21 am Shit! The movers/packers are going to be here in 2 hours!

6:27 am alarm goes off… crawl out of bed, dress and begin to pack more stuff.

6:30 am … 8:00 am pack furiously

8:01 am movers show up.

8:02 am … 8:15 am walk the two-man team of movers/packers around the apartment and show them the stuff in the garage. All to a chorus of, “Damn”, “Oh Man!” and low whistles of disbelief. Raise eyebrows at Mister behind movers/packers’ backs.

8:15 am … 11:30 am pack and haul boxes, pack and haul boxes annnnnd repeat. …Oh, and listen to one of the packers say, “Fuckin Mexicans, undercutting our rates, takin our business.” Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

11:34 am Watch through the sliding glass doors to our patio as the bigger of the two movers/packers drop a $400 lawn chair over the second floor balcony to the smaller one down below. Hear “CLANGGGG” Yep, they broke it… Mister asks calmly, “Why would you throw a chair over the balcony?” The big one (mover) replies, “That’s the way we do it man.” Mister says, “The last company we hired to move us carried the chairs down the stairs.” Mover/packer guy replies, “Well, that’s Mexicans for ya.”

11:38 am … 12:20 pm look around at what is left in the apartment. Check out the truck. It is full. Ask if they will make a second load. They say that they will.

12:20 pm … 12:33 pm Gecko manager/owner, Chet, shows up to put the patio table and two gas grills into his truck. He listens stoically as Mister tells him about the dropping the patio chair off of the balcony, the breaking of said chair. Chet apparently thinks this is standard policy.

12:34 pm the packer/movers grab my beautiful, freestanding jewelry box, open the lid, open the doors, open the bottom drawer, shake the legs, put a blanket over the top of it, and just as Mister says, “Do not turn that upside down.” They turn it upside down. The clink-clank-tink! Of jewelry and glass and crystal is echoed throughout the apartment complex.

12:35 pm Mister loses his shit completely.

12:37 pm the larger of the two movers/packers actually says to Mister, “Who do you think we are, man? Jesus? We ain’t perfect!”

12:35 pm … 12:40 pm Chet stands by like a fucking deaf mute.

12:35 pm … 12:40 pm I put all (or most of it anyway) of my jewelry back into the jewelry box, noting a few broken pieces.

12:41 pm the packer/movers and Chet leave for lunch… with all of our stuff in their truck.

12:41:30 pm I pull out behind them onto the main street to watch as their furniture dolly liberates itself from the back of their pickup truck and sails into the intersection during their left turn.

12:42 pm they stop in the intersection as the smaller of the packer/movers runs out to retrieve said dolly.

12:50 pm My sister calls and says that she is bringing lunch to our new house.

1:00 pm Reb shows up with yummy lunch of chicken salad, honey Dijon potato chips, kiwi and strawberry slices and croissants with cheese.

1:00 pm … 1:15 pm give Reb the grand tour. Much love for Reb. Thanks for the lunch!

1:15 pm the movers/packers show up. We show them where stuff goes.

1:30 pm … 4:00 pm they haul stuff in and put it in random places.

4:00 pm they hand us a bill for $200 over what we were quoted. Second load? Nope. Broken chair? Mister takes $100 off their final bill to have the chair fixed. And what of the rest of the stuff at the apartment? Helloooo Tahoe and manual labor.

4:05 pm Swear only to use Mexicans or people of Hispanic origin for the next move.

4:00 pm … 9:30 pm make several trips back to the apartment to haul stuff back to the house. See a pattern forming. Silently scream inside my own head.

9:00 pm lukewarm shower

9:20 pm … 9:55 pm dinner

10:00 pm pass smooth out.

Friday, June 25th, 2004

6:45 am wake up unbelievably sore, crawl out of bed and put clothes on

7:00 am … 7:15 am breakfast at Grandy’s yum!

7:15 am … the rest of the friggin day …. It’s Raining!

7:15 am … 11:45 pm pack and move boxes from upstairs to the garage, from the garage to the truck, from the truck to our new garage. Work like ants or bees or something that is small and communal and brainless… also that has to do lots of heavy lifting and stuff.

11:45 pm listen to Mister’s knees as they creak when he goes up the stairs. Yeeeouch!

12:00 pm wait for cleaning staff to come, realize that we have a bunch still left to do, call cleaning company, ask if the cleaning ladies can come closer to the 3 o’clock time as we were given a noon to three window. Affirmative on the three o’clock time slot. Word.

12:05 pm … 3:00 pm still with the packing and moving and lifting and the creaking of Mister’s knees.

2:30 pm during one of our runs to the new house, it is discovered that our garage door is broken. Sweet. During each consecutive runs thereafter, Mister and I push the button on the inside of the garage to engage the motor and manually push the door up. Heavy ass door. Mister calls the property management company. Rocky is contacted. Rocky the garage door guy. He’ll be at our house Saturday at 8 am.

3:00 pm … no cleaning ladies.

4:00 pm … still no cleaning ladies.

4:15 pm call the cleaning company… yes, we still want the cleaning ladies, please send them. Not today? Tomorrow at a premium? Whatever. Just please call me back after your scheduling meeting to let me know what time they can come tomorrow.

5:05 pm still no call. Perfect.

5:15 pm call the cleaning place… hear, “Thank you for calling ____, our office hours are Monday through Friday 8 am top 5 pm. Please leave a message.” Arrrrgh! I leave a message.

3:00 pm … 6:20 pm still with the moving and lifting and bending and packing and sweating. Did I mention the sweating?

6:45 pm return Tahoe to Clarice so she can take her kids to their grandma & grandpa’s house for the weekend. Thank her profusely again. And again. Promise to call not too early in the morning on Saturday. Yes, we still have a bunch more to haul. Nah, we appreciate the offer for the help, but your lending us the Tahoe is more than enough. Really. Thank you. (Psst… Clarice... you guys rock out! Thanks again!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

7:00 pm … 8:30 pm move more stuff around.

8:35 pm call on my cell phone from some woman who does not speak English. Glean from her broken syllables that someone at _____ cleaning service gave her my number because I had cancelled my appointment with the cleaning people. Huh? What the fu…?

8:40 pm cold ass shower, lots of bitching and moaning. [Why is the water cold? No idea. We’ll check the water heater tomorrow when we get done with moving. We need to get a flashlight, because I don’t know where I packed our good one. Alrighty.]

9:15 pm … 10:20 pm dinner at cute little Mexican food restaurant.

10:30 pm … 11:15 pm watch something benign on TV… a movie as we don’t have cable yet.

11:30 pm pass out.

Saturday, June 26th, 2004

6:45 am wake up unbelievably sore, crawl out of bed and put clothes on

7:00 am … 7:15 am Mister goes to the local bakery and brings back kolaches for breakfast. mmmmm

6:45 am … the rest of the friggin day …. It’s Raining!

8:00 am … 9:15 am Hello Rocky. Thank you for coming to fix our garage door.

8:15 am … 9:45 am see two Mexican guys doing the lawn of our neighbor. Go speak to them and find out if they can add us to their roster of houses. We negotiate on price and they mow, edge and clean up our lawn. Perfect. Tip them generously and settle on a day and concrete price. The lawn looks gorgeous!

9:15 am … 10:00 am Mister has an appointment

10:30 am call Calrice … wake her up… Ooops!

10:45 am pick up the Tahoe from Calrice’s husband. Sweet, sweet man. Thank you kind sir!

11:00 am … 2:15 pm pack and move and clean and vacuum and curse and sweat and … What is with the friggin rain already!?

2:15 pm Betty R. from ______ cleaning service calls me. She is about 5 minutes away, do I still want her to come clean the apartment? “Oh dear sweet Jesus…. YES!”

2:16 pm Betty arrives with her little back-pack vacuum and her cleaning supplies with reassuring words of, “Yes, Si, Si… now, don’t you worry Sir, don’t you worry ma’am, we will clean it all up…. , …The blinds, Si…., …The refrigerator, Si. The oven, Si. It will all be ok.” Oh how I love Betty R.

2:16 pm … 4:15 pm Betty and her co-worker work and scrub and clean.

2:16 pm … 4:15 pm Mister and I get the last of the stuff into the garage. The apartment is completely empty. Thank goodness! We make a round of the apartment and it is spotless. Be-A-Utiful! We pay Betty and her co-worker… get her cell phone number and wave farewell to them.

4:15 pm … 6:00 pm pack boxes, pack the Tahoe, make several runs. Open the garage with our new snazzy garage door opener. Thank you again Rocky!

6:00 pm back at the new house, put things away, and go in search of the water heater.

6:25 pm find water heater in attic over the garage.

6:40 pm Shit. It is a gas heater. Do we have gas hooked up? Nope.

6:40 pm … 6:43 pm Shit. Shit. Shit.

6:44 pm Mister calls the Property management company. They say, “Did you ask us if the water heater was gas or electric?” Mister says, “No, what other questions was I supposed to know to ask you? You couldn’t even answer me with the information on if the house had a sprinkler system or not. You didn’t know the code to the garage door.”

6:46 pm I call TXU gas company and schedule their people to hook up our gas at the EARLIEST time possible. Monday, June 28, 2004 from 8 am to 5 pm. Thanks.

6:50 pm … 8:45 pm Load and haul the last two loads of our stuff into the Tahoe, drive through the (frickin) rain to the new garage, unload the stuff and drive to the gas station.

8:45 pm deliver the Tahoe back to Clarice and family with full tank of gas. Offer first born and buckets of money. When both are rejected, offer to take them to dinner sometime. Their graciousness knows NO bounds. Truly.

9:00 pm … 11:00 pm Scrounge around for food and stare listlessly at the television.

11:01 pm Mister declares that he is going to start a company called the Mexican Connection. It will be a referral company that sends over people to do whatever job you need done. Moving? Mexicans. Cleaning? Mexicans. Lawn Care? Mexicans. Because clearly they take pride in all they do, and they do it better than our white, honky asses. Those mover guys… yep, white… and cocky. Pricks. We should have gone with Alliance.

11:03 pm pass out laughing

Sunday, June 26th, 2004

7:00 am wake up, play hooky from church, get struck by lightning (not really so much with the lightning part)

10:00 am wake up again…. Why? Because my ass is TIRED y’all.

10:10 am … 10:00 pm move various boxes to the rooms that they should be in. Unpack some of the kitchen stuff. Listen as Mister hooks up and curses (with Feeling!) the washer and dryer. Watch the cat fully relax and take advantage of the room he has now to run around in, careening around the corner to slide through the kitchen on the linoleum. Deep breath, and sigh.

10:30 pm fall asleep in our humongous bedroom with a smile.

Monday, June 27th, 2004

5:45 am … 6:15 am wake up, crawl out of bed and warm up water on the stove so I can take a bath in the kitchen sink. What? We have no hot water… member?

Don’t look at me like that.

June 30, 2004

"Nah, you don't look like a lesbian."

This morning as I trotted into work wearing baggy and wrinkled britches (that I pulled out of a moving box) I noticed something poking me in the boob.

Interesting.

Was I harboring an iguana in my blouse? Nay.

Was I sporting an array of bondage wear with spikes? Not me.

I got to my desk and looked down the front of my shirt. This gray metal piece with a white tip was jutting out of my bra from the right (domineering) boob.

I had a flat.

No, you doof, not a flat boob. A busted underwire in my bra. My expensive bra.

::sigh::

I couldn’t just push the wire back in and hope or pray for the best. I did that for the first hour of the day. I would move and I would hear, “creeee-eee-eak”. Lord, my boob sounded pissed.

And haunted.

Not only would I sound like my boob was haunted but I would get this lovely spear in the sternum from the underwire that was trying to make a break for freedom.

So I pulled the wire out and then preformed some minor surgery on the other side of the bra to liberate that wire too. When I was done with my underwear engineering, I looked down to find the most attractive thing in all of womanhood.

A Uniboob.

I asked my co-worker if something looked off. She said no, and then reminded me that she would have already made fun of me if there were something amiss. Love that about her.

She asked me what was up, I told her about the underwire liberation and she proclaimed, “Nah, you don’t look like a lesbian.”

That’s probably the nicest thing I’ll hear all day.

About June 2004

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in June 2004. They are listed from oldest to newest.

May 2004 is the previous archive.

July 2004 is the next archive.

Many more can be found on the main index page or by looking through the archives.

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